Crater Lake To Stanley, Day 4 : Amusement

Today is a long biking day. I pass through valleys and flatlands, up steep hills, across bridges, and over a wide variety of roads. Sometimes the vehicles are rushing by, a few feet away. Sometimes I see them coming from a mile off, and they move into the opposite lane to give me plenty of room. One constant, though, is the enthusiasm of the drivers.

Throughout Oregon, almost every driver that passes me on an uncrowded road has waved at me. Mostly they just raise a hand off the steering wheel in acknowledgement – the truckers like to do that – but other times they wave. I’ve received dozens of “thumbs-up” gestures. One woman in the passenger seat gave me a very enthusiastic double-thumbs-up as I was climbing a hill. A car full of teenagers all made “hang-loose” gestures at me out the windows – a gesture I haven’t seen back in California for ten years or more. A carload of girls went “Whoohoo!” at me.

I receive waves and smiles from construction workers, “Yeaaaah!”s and “Whoooo!”s from cars, and casual nods and under-bar waves and thumbs-ups from motorcyclists. The tough guys on their Harleys seem the most enthusiastic. I think they like to acknowledge a fellow “free spirit”. Or perhaps a fellow badass.

Because badass I am! On this day I will pedal 75 pounds of bicycle and gear over two mountain passes, and countless hills, for one hundred and nine miles. I can’t even capture the whole ride as GPS data because the batteries in the GPS crap out at 10 hours, and I keep riding while it recharges off my battery box.

Around mile 60, still in the middle of the National Forest, I start to get very very angry at the hills. No one’s around, so I’m free to tell them exactly how I feel.

“&%$#*@ YOU, HILLS! YEAH YOU HEARD ME! YOU SUCK! YOU &%$#*@ING SUCK!”

[ pant pant ]

“I’D &%$#*@ING SPIT ON YOU BUT I’M TOO THIRSTY! WHY DIDN’T YOU SHOW UP ON THE &%$#*@ MAP WHEN I WAS PLANNING THE ROUTE? WHY ARE YOU HERE?”

[ pant pant ]

“I KNOW, IT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE &%$#*@ING ASSHOLES!! HILLS ARE ASSHOLES! YOU ALL JUST CROWDED IN HERE YESTERDAY WHEN I WASN’T LOOKING!! GET OFF MY ROUTE! &%$#*@&% YOU!”

[ pant pant ]

“Oh – maybe that was the last one – let’s see what’s around the corner ANOTHER HILL, %$#*@&%ING SURPRISE, %$#*@&% %$#*-@&% HILL!!!!”

On the gigantic hill leading into Christmas Valley, a large rabbit hops into the road, about 30 yards ahead of me in the fringe of my headlight. Since there’s no one around, I scream, “LOOKOUT, RABBIT! I’M GONNA GETCHA!! O-M-G-LOOKOUT MR. RABBIT!” The rabbit hops about twenty yards further down the road, then stops. I keep screaming “warnings”, and the rabbit keeps hopping forward, for another hundred yards or so. Finally I give up with the warnings, having exhausted my supply of cute nicknames for rabbits (Mr Bun-face, Captain Hoppers, et cetera), and the rabbit hops over the ditch and into the weeds. It must have sensed that the evening’s entertainment was over.